Time Honoured Ghosts
by Snowy Winter Tales
Summary: A collection of eighteen drabbles, inspired by the four seasons, beautiful artworks and a wide collection of films. Features Draco, Ginny, snark, Quidditch, starry skies, fields of gold and one count of Smoking!Draco. You have been warned. [And some have actually won prizes! Quelle surprise.]
1. Forgery

**Author's Note**: Well. Hello there. I haven't done this in such a very long time that I'm still figuring out which button I should press without things quietly breaking in the background. I've found many old stories that I haven't shared yet, and while I try to iron out the kinks in the storyline for _Your Hidden Past _and try to edit the monstrosity that is the seven drafts of the next chapter of _Chocolate Biscuits_, I'm just going to leave these here.

I competed in three rounds of _Draco/Ginny: Last Drabble Writer Standing_, a community at Livejournal. I competed in Round Three, Round Four and Round Five (2009-2010). I lost most of the time, but that doesn't really matter; I still think they're tiny little lovely stories, and I'm quite proud of them!

I have included all prompts and word restrictions. This round, Round Three, focused on nature. Oh, and of course prizes (if any) and eliminations.

* * *

_Challenge #2 - The nature of Winter _  
_Prompt: "If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome." - Anne Bradstreet  
Word count: 200-300 words_

* * *

**Forgery**

It's snowing outside; depressingly early in the year. It's cold.

He's sat on the sofa, nursing a cup of tea, glasses perched on his nose, and Ginny frames her own mug with her hands (the one Harry got her at Christmas that she often pretends was from her dad, because he hates any mention of Harry and the war they're in).

It's probably worth it, she thinks. This. This togetherness; _them_. She feels sometimes it should be more than it is.

But then sometimes not at all, because they've both known since long ago being in a relationship was more than kisses behind that tapestry in the kitchen and hiding, bodies pressed together in the cupboard, while Fred and George storm by at light-speed because they're being chased by Mum.

It's his hand near hers when she puts it down upon the soft fabric of the couch, fingertips just-barely-touching, shoulders-barely-brushing, and she allows herself to pretend, for a while, that they're not in a war, that they can be together; that he won't just leave after they've won.

And five moths later – March, spring, so many faces missing from where they should be – she knows they're done pretending when he appears on the doorstep of her apartment in London and hands her a bouquet of forty-five pink roses.

_When this is over, I'm going to marry you._

_Such promises. You haven't even gotten me flowers yet._


	2. You

**Author's Note: **This little drabble won the challenge and Mod's Choice! I was so excited.

* * *

_Challenge #3 - Leaves on the Ground  
Prompt: Your drabble must involve the activity of raking leaves.  
Word Count: 100 words exactly!_

* * *

**You**

_What would you want to smell if you could only smell one thing for the rest of your life?_

She'd been reading from one of the mags she'd swiped from Hermione's when they went to pick her up this morning and he was raking the leaves in the garden.

_That's the most stupid question I've ever heard_, he says.

Ginny dips her head back and laughs, laughs, laughs. The leaves fall from the tree above her and cling to her hair in various places. She stands, offers tea, and goes inside.

_You_, he whispers into the cold, early autumn air.


	3. Gauloises

_Challenge # 4 - The Season of Snowflakes _  
_Prompt: Your drabbles must include the word "snowflakes" and be inspired by one of the two following quotes: "Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look at what they can do when they stick together." ~author unknown~ or "Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand, and melting like a snowflake." ~ Francis Bacon, Sr.~ _  
_Word Count: 150-250 words_

* * *

**Gauloises**

It was very cold out. She could feel the wind nipping at her skin through her robes. Any second now, it would start snowing, and she'd finally be able to get her five sickles back from Fred. She loved sneaking out in the middle of the night. The grounds were deserted.

She favoured the gardens behind the Greenhouses. They were wild and unkempt, but they were quiet, solitary, beautiful, fragrant; she couldn't not love them. She made her way over to her favourite tree, right by the edge of the garden. Just as she turned left at the rosebushes, she realised someone was already there and paused, out of habit; politeness, maybe.

It was him. He was smoking. She stepped out.

He looked up, cigarette half-way through his mouth, and he smiled. His smile said, _of course it's you. As if my day could not get any worse._

Ginny had learned long ago to read his smiles.

She didn't say anything, just stood next to him. All she heard were the sounds of him breathing in and blowing smoke into the air. She opened her mouth to say something.

He grabbed her face, turned her way and breathed smoke into her open mouth. Ginny coughed; inhaled by accident.

He laughed.

She leaned forward and kissed him.

His expensive French cigarette fell to the ground. Ginny pulled back.

She felt a snowflake land on her cheek.

He looked puzzled.

She smiled.


	4. Father Christmas

_Challenge #5 - The Twelve Days of Christmas _  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by the song, "The Twelve days of Christmas" and include one line from the song. _  
_Word Count: Exactly 500 Words._

* * *

**Father Christmas**

'Well, I think it's sweet,' said Hermione, fingering the felt pear tree ornament before she took it and hung it up in Ginny's tree.

Ginny stared at her. 'Sweet? You think it's sweet someone is sending me hand-sown, knitted and felt Christmas ornaments? It's creepy. They're on my doorstep, no note, just there, begging me to take them in or otherwise that seedy woman from number three might, and then they just sit there on my kitchen table. Unopened. Mocking me with their unopened opened-ness.'

Hermione sighed. 'Opened-ness isn't a word, Gin. Besides, I think it's romantic. You have a secret admirer. Oh! This one has a _bird_ in it! I hadn't even seen. It's lovely.'

Snorting, Ginny shook her head as she tried to make room for the sandwiches she'd made. No such luck. The two white dove-shaped baubles were huddled together, looking quite cosy with their evil, conspiring friends the three hens and the four colly birds (one of which had on mittens; the others had earmuffs, Christmas hats and scarves) and when she tried to move them, one of the hens clucked at her.

_Clucked!_

How rude. Rude hens. Rude, unknown hens that clucked for no reason at all other than simply being annoyed at her. Someone ought to tell them _they_ were the ones that had appeared on _her_ doorstep, not the other way around. Ginny didn't appear on anyone's doorstep. Well, she did, but then that was usually because she was invited.

'Hermione, where do you want your food?' she asked, looking around, plates in hand.

'Just here,' said Hermione, bending down.

'Hermione,' Ginny scolded, 'stop moving things. You're pregnant. That's what wands are for.'

Hermione stopped lifting one of the sleeping geese into the tree and glared at her. 'You sound like Ron.'

'And you need to eat,' Ginny countered, careful to navigate around the small glass pond on her table. It had seven charmed swans swimming and circling each other, golden rings around their necks. Every once in a while, they would all move to the side and the water would fold away. Music would start playing and prettily dressed girl figurines would come out and start dancing to _Carol of the Bells_. Sometimes, they were accompanied by men, who leaped around the place and generally looked clumsy.

Those actually reminded her of Harry.

'Fine,' said Hermione, abandoning the maids and their admirers (the pipers) and digging in. Just then, the doorbell rang.

'I'll get it,' Ginny said. When she opened the door, loud music started playing. Ginny blinked down at the twelve miniature drummers that stood marching on her doorstep, their kilts flowing in the breeze.

'What?' Ginny asked, in awe.

'On the twelfth day of Christmas,' said Malfoy, appearing from out of the shadows, covered in snow, 'my true love sent me twelve drummers drumming.'

Ginny just gaped at him. She never even heard Hermione Disapparate, because Malfoy was _kissing_ her and he tasted of snow and Christmas all at once.


	5. Remember Me

**Author's Note**: The next couple of chapters feature drabbles I wrote for Round Four of the Draco/Ginny Last Drabble Maker Standing contest. This time around, all challenges were based around artworks, and rather than being eliminated at the start, votes were tallied and a winner was chosen at the end, meaning more drabbles :)

Again, prompts and word restrictions are included!

* * *

_Challenge #1 - The Kiss _  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss". _  
_Word Count: Exactly 250 words._

* * *

**Remember Me**

The blanket was gold and yellow and purple and blue and grey and his hair was messy and splayed upon the blanket, a myriad of colours, of stars, of his name, and he was just gazing at her with perfect, mercurial, liquid grey eyes and she knew those were her fingers tangled in his hair and her breath upon his face and her hands tracing over his skin and clenching in his shirt and she wanted to kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until she couldn't breathe; a kind of dizzy that's wonderful and right and meaningful and fun and exhilarating.

'What?' he said, sounding genuinely amused at her looks and her shivers from his fingers dancing underneath the hem of her shirt, cold against her warm skin.

'Shut up,' she said, scolded, and then, 'kiss me.'

He frowned and looked down at the faded Chudley Cannons shirt she was wearing and his fingers underneath it; and raised an eyebrow and (sounding amused and belittling, voice hoarse and low and how could someone's voice be attractive?) said, whispered, leaning up and lips brushing her ear, 'How perfectly scandalous, Ginevra -'

And that shouldn't be allowed, should it? Him and teasing and her heart cracking and bursting in their little field of gold - and then she was the one; she was leaning forward and crushing their lips together.

And that was his arm around her, pulling her closer to him and making her want him all over again.


	6. Locked

_Challenge #2 - Forbidden Desire_  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by "The Bolt (Le Verrou)", by Jean-Honoré Fragonard_  
_Word Count: Exactly 350 words._

* * *

**Locked**

'I can't believe I've been made to look after a child,' Johnson whines, leaning with his head against the wall and looking despairingly at his partner.

'Shut up,' the other responded curtly.

-x-

'We've done it, sir,' a delighted voice announced. Draco Malfoy, who had been sat in his favourite armchair by the library fire, didn't even look.

'You forgot to knock,' he said icily.

'No, sir, the thing is, see, is that we've done it,' the eager voice, belonging to a tiny man, went on.

'So you've said, Pettigrew,' Draco responded, swiveling around in his chair to face him. 'Tell me, are you keen to test my patience?'

'Sir?' Peter Pettigrew responded blankly, blinking in confusion.

'You fail to mention what you have done.'

'Why,' Pettigrew said, as if it was obvious, 'we've captured an Order member. She's down in the dungeons.'

-x-

'Do you hear that?' Johnson asked, pulling himself away from the wall and standing up straight.

'Hear what?'

'That,' Johnson said and then, quick as lightning, he was pulling out his wand and spelling the door open.

'What are you doing?' hissed his companion venomously. 'Have you gone completely mad? The - OI! YOU! HOLD IT!'

Ginny turned her face round. She didn't lower her hand from the sharp, iron bolt on the secret passageway, only reached further.

Johnson who - contrary to his appearance - wasn't a man of many words, had gone up to her and was pulling her away from the door, not even bothering with magic.

'Have you gone completely mad, Ginny?' Johnson snapped.

Ginny spat in his face. 'You're a sad excuse for a Ravenclaw.'

-x-

'Dungeons?' Malfoy repeated. 'Take me to her.'

'How long has she been here?' Draco asked.

'Five days,' Wormtail responded.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Go up to my room, Pettigrew. I'll deal with this.'

-x-

'Sir!' Johnson said, relieved, when Malfoy appeared in the doorway.

Ginny, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, reached for the bolt again.

'_Stupefy!_'

Ginny's eyes widened.

'Go!' Malfoy hissed.


	7. In This Life

_Challenge #3 - Longing _  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by "Christina's World", painted by Andrew Wyeth. _  
_Word Count: 200-400 words._

* * *

**In This Life**

There's a house there, hidden behind the dry, seedlike stalks. The fields of gold. She knows its there - it's always been, even as the forest was burnt for land and the houses were swept away by big money; new money, filling the town with its prosperity. She hears the roaring of the creek, the vastness of the water streaming, the creaking old wood of the water wheel as it turns and twists and groans under its weight.

She knows he lives there. She knows because she saw him once, in the forest, standing in that very creek, barefoot and perfectly still, like a painting, like a painting. His hair was gold, his skin pale; her fingers itched to touch him, to see if his surrealism could turn to something real in her hands.

But she can only lie in the barley while her brothers work the land. Her mother didn't want her around the house; her health too fragile, her hair too red, her name too common. Appearances are everything, and Ginny spends her day gazing at the perfect house up ahead, hair a storm in the wind, wishing and wishing and wishing he'd open the door, come out and rescue her from this life.


	8. Stars

**Author's Note**: I never actually entered Challenge 4, which had "Miranda - The Tempest" by John William Waterhouse as its subject, because I'm forgot (I'm so clever about these things).

Fortunately, I redeemed myself with this next challenge, which beat out all the other drabbles in the competition and took home 'Best Romance'. I'm still pretty proud of that!

* * *

_Challenge #5 - Starry Night_  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Night"._  
_Word Count: Exactly 200 words._

* * *

**Stars**

'I still can't see it,' Ginny complains, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable and sunburnt. Yes, all of those things. She is very good at feeling them all together, at the same time, because she is a girl and apparently, she can do things like that.

'Just wait for a while,' he says, sitting next to her, his hand just barely not touching hers. But they are close. Ginny wonders if they should be.

'There,' he says, head dipped back as he points at the sky. Ginny follows his finger and then sees, suddenly, how the moon is lit up and how the stars twinkle brightly in the sky and why, like that painting he made her see, how this was perfect and wonderful and magical without anything - it was like the sky was bursting into waves of stars.

'I see,' she says softly, because it feels like she should not be speaking any louder, because the occasion seems to not call for it, because he's leaning over and whispering in her ear and she feels the shiver all the way down her spine, lovely and thrilling.

'I love you,' he admitted, and she smiles up at the cerulean sky.


	9. Take A Gamble

**Author's Note**: This drabble won Mod's Choice for this round :)

* * *

_Challenge #6 - Gambling, Wine, and Lust_  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by "The Cheat with the Ace of Diamonds", by Georges de La Tour._  
_Word Count: 100-499 words._

* * *

**Take A Gamble**

'I cannot even begin to imagine the horror,' Pansy said, and then folded her cards on the table. 'Her robes were fuchsia and the trimmings were magenta! A Squib could dress better by accident.'

'Unfortunate,' Astoria agreed, smiling at her own set of cards. Pansy gave her a cross look, and made an even more cross sound when Astoria won the round, collecting all the money on the table and surreptitiously sliding it into her purse.

The hairdressers was very full this time of day, with women gandering around getting their hair done and their new evening robes tailored and fitted in the next room. They would be on their way to the opera or the theatre; there was a play by this new playwright, a Mudblood, who was said to have abused Shakespeare's characters in a new manner.

'I say,' came a third voice from the right. It belonged to Millicent, a large, beefy girl whose hair was in bright orange curlers. 'That's the third time you've won within twenty minutes, Astoria.'

Astoria did not seem to take note of this coincidence. 'Again, girls?' she asked, and Millicent nodded. Pansy looked hesitant, but agreed, anyway.

A little bell tingled. Pansy turned to look. Outside, Draco Malfoy was stood. Millicent took a lazy drag of her cigarette, while Pansy stood up to greet him when he entered the shop.

'Draco,' she said. 'So very nice to see you again.'

'Yes,' Draco responded, taking off his hat. 'I'm here to pick up Mother's gowns.'

'Certainly,' Astoria said, her cheeks tinged red, as she went into the back to get the robes. Millicent stood up, going over to one of the seats near the mirror and lazily taking out her curlers.

'How is your mother?' Pansy asked. It was largely an open secret that all three girls had a thing for Draco Malfoy, and that Malfoy was quite willingly oblivious to the fact.

At that very moment, Astoria returned with the gowns, and presented them to Draco. He seemed satisfied, and pulled out his wallet to pay.

The bell above the shop tinkled again. All three girls turned to look. Draco didn't; he pulled out enough money to pay for twice the amount of gowns laid out, and carefully took the bags.

'Come on, darling, we'll be late,' said a very soft, feminine voice. Draco looked up to it and then Pansy saw it. A look she had never known him to show before.

'Thank you, Pansy. I will see you again soon,' Draco said, as if it was an afterthought. The owner of the voice smiled when the door closed after him.

'I _hate_ her,' Astoria said. Millicent had long since abandoned the practice of removing her rollers, gazing despondently at her own reflection.

'Me too,' Pansy agreed, inaudibly, as she watched Ginevra Weasley kiss Draco Malfoy full on the street, her red hair a banner of gold and orange in the wind.


	10. Dance All Night

_Challenge #7 - Jack Vettriano Paintings _  
_Prompt: Your drabble must be inspired by one of the following paintings by Jack Vettriano: "The Singing Butler", "Mad Dogs" or "Dance Me to the End of Love". _  
_Word Count: 100-499 words._

* * *

**Dance All Night**

She was a classically trained ballet dancer. She moved with sinewy grace all over the stage, filling theatres to the brim with her brilliant red hair and her renditions of Odette and Coppelia. She had a certain grace about her; about the way she held things and moved her body. She broke her left leg in four places when she was just twenty-two, and could kiss her professional career goodbye.

He was a classically trained ballroom dancer. He'd won many competitions, waltzing the Viennese Waltz and the dancing the Tango. He had a room back at his mansion that glittered full of trophies. He was a gifted dancer, but often too mechanical. Soon, new talent joined the ranks, and he was forgotten.

-x-

The burgomaster's balls were legendary for their music and their social circles. She had procured an invite through a friend of a friend, trying to cling to her what-had-been status for as long as she could. She was dressed in the loveliest gown of antique white, which was nearly opalescent in the bright lights.

He'd escorted Lady Lancing's daughter. She was quite pretty, her dress the brightest of red that the land had ever seen. He'd had a fight with his mother this morning, about why he was taking such an absurdly long time to propose to her.

-x-

'Detestable girl,' he said.

'Shut up and dance with me,' she said.

And so they did.


	11. Loose Lips

**Author's Note**: This drabble - the last in Round 4 - was inspired by Jason Levesque (aka Stuntkid)'s watercolour "Loose Lips, Raspberry", which makes my heart stutter a little each time I look at it.

This drabble won Mod's Choice :)

* * *

_Challenge #8 - Author's Choice_  
_Prompt: Choose one piece of art that inspires you and write a drabble based on that inspiration. Please include the Title, Artist and a link to the piece in Notes section of the header._  
_Word Count: Exactly 499 words._

* * *

**Loose Lips**

'I can't believe you,' she says softly, unpinning her hair. The blond curls on the right side spring free, and she stares at her reflection as she carefully considers the pins on the other. He's stood behind her, back leaning against the door, fingers crossed over the brass handles.

'Why?' he asks, and she levels him with a stare.

'Such effrontery, Draco. Almost as if you are twelve again. You may leave.'

A flicker of shock flashes across his face, but then it is gone, and Narcissa does not even wince when the handsome oak door slams shut behind her son, taking care to remove her pearl earrings.

-x-

Of course, Draco is punished. He is only to leave the house when he has received explicit permission from Lucius or herself. What she had not counted on, strangely enough, was her son's ingenuity. He forged Lucius's signature perfectly; the house, not used to being deceived by its own inhabitants, allowed him to pass outside, through its doors.

She knows where to find him, naturally. He will be in the village, at a party, hanging around the pretty girls. Her son is but seventeen and almost purposely not aware of the importance of a recognised position in good society. She is his mother, however, and she takes pride in the fact that she knows what he is up to.

That is why it comes as such a surprise to her to find him not there. The police is alerted, of course, and the constables and inspectors drum in and out of the house regularly over the next few days. It is the only thing that keeps her standing, in her state. She has yet to tell Lucius that she is with child. Of course, it is not his, which perhaps justifies her hesitation.

-x-

They find him two weeks later. She should not be surprised, she thinks, as she watches him sit down at the police station, filth in his clothes and in his hair, to find him holding the hand of a young girl. The girl is everything her son isn't - indeed, everything Narcissa herself is not. She has fiery red hair, pink, vivid, raspberry coloured lips, and a set of perfectly straight teeth. She is pregnant.

From the way Draco is defiantly not looking in her direction, she knows it's his.

The scandal makes her hands tremble. A pretty, pretty peasant girl, carrying the child of the heir to the Malfoy family fortune. She might laugh, if she wasn't sure she could feel her heart breaking in her chest.

The inspector allows her to enter the room.

'You cannot come home, Draco,' she tells him.

He looks up at her. 'I know. But I love her.'

His voice doesn't even tremble.

It is only when Narcissa is safely in the carriage on the way home, that she puts her hand in front of her mouth, and allows herself to cry.


	12. Virginny

**Author's Note**: Here are all the drabbles I wrote for Round Five, which saw the community return to its regular elimination per challenge. The prompts this round were inspired by films, and I wrote quite a lot of them. I actually made it to the finals, but lost with the last round of drabbles. Ah, such is life!

Prompts and word restrictions are included; this drabble is inspired by Pocahontas. It originally featured the lyrics to the opening song of the film, but due to sitely restrictions, those have been removed.

* * *

_Challenge #1 - Disney_  
_Prompt: Write a drabble based on a Disney movie of your choosing. You should include the title of the movie you chose in the title or author's notes for your drabble._  
_Word Count: Exactly 400 words._

* * *

**Virginny**

The wooden deck groaned under the weight of twenty fully grown men combining their magic, panting with the effort of levitating the last of the supplies on board. Draco Malfoy looked down at the deck, laughing a bit at the ridiculous amount of effort that had gone into ordering the ship's house-elves to make it shiny. It seemed pretentious and unnecessary, but then this was a journey meant to impress; to establish the first proper wizarding society in Virginny. And Draco, at just twenty-four, was to teach at a school there; a position Father wanted for him.

"Hoist sail!" the captain shouted, over the ruckus coming from the lower decks, and then suddenly they're leaving and there's shouts for them to be safe and for David to just _please take care of your brother_ and it's well over six weeks when they arrive at shore. The journey was only supposed to take around six, but they got lost twice because the magical map that's supposed to tell them which way to go got into a fight with the Captain.

"Tomorrow," the Captain promises Draco, when they've touched land and they're finally there, in the middle of a woody, sunny area while the ship's crew cuts down trees, "we'll have built a school and you'll be able to teach the children arriving soon."

Draco smiles and pretends to care, but is really, really happy when he's left alone and gets to explore the nature. There are plants and trees and _smells_ he's never seen before and it is like Raleigh boasted it would be. He comes to a waterfall, something he's only ever read about, and he wants to stand directly under the spray and starts climbing down, but then – then – then there's a flare of magic, _raw_ magic; magic he's never felt before and he looks down and there, is a girl, barefooted, wearing the hide of a deer, a shock of red hair framing her face; and she's just stopped the fountain wetting her by just holding up her hand.

Her fingers are making come-hither motions to fruits that grow on rocks behind the water, and all commands of his French tutor shouting at him to use a wand to channel his magic die in the back of his mind, because this is feels so right.

She turns, sees him, and he smiles. She smiles back beautifully.


	13. Hell Hath No Fury

**Author's Note**: This drabble was originally peppered with music lyrics not in the public domain, so I have lovingly butchered them into made-up songs. You're so very welcome.

This drabble won Mod's Choice for this round.

* * *

_Challenge #2 - Horror_  
_Prompt: In honour of Halloween, write a drabble inspired by the Horror film genre. You can pick a specific movie or just be inspired by the genre as a whole._  
_Word Count: 100-499 words._

* * *

**Hell Hath No Fury**

"_And I can't think of where she would stay, my little stray –_"

The kitchen wireless was blue and grey, which Ginny really loved. She was ironing. She'd been home for a while now, getting used to the idea that she wasn't to strain herself now that she was pregnant. Ironing helped take her mind off things, helped her not worry about stretch-marks and how many times she needed to have her dress fitted and what sort of foods she should be having.

Draco hated it just as much as she did.

Not the fact that they were going to have a baby – no, he rather liked that – but all the things that came with. He was surprisingly gallant; carrying things for her, insisting she take time off work and what not. Ginny really, really hated him for it. This morning, she'd tossed the newest set of dishes he got her just yesterday at his head. The radio crackled. Ginny looked up, waddling over to it carefully and twisting the knobs.

"_A stray-stray-stray-stray – if I can't dream about you, I can't hold them – such a horrible sound, bang bang –_"

Ginny smacked her hand flatly on the wireless when the knob turning didn't help, but it was stuck and kept repeating "_I used to kill you –_"

And then suddenly, someone was standing next to her.

"Move," the person said, and Ginny froze, wondering why she wasn't doing what he was saying and why she wasn't more scared of the cold metal against her throat.

"Bang," the person repeated and Ginny made to turn her head towards him. Keys turned the lock on the front door and then Draco was calling out for her. Before she knew it, there was a sharp bang and she was _bleeding_ – that was strange, wasn't it, she shouldn't be bleeding just yet – and then everything faded to black.

Draco heard the bang and hurried in, wand drawn. The stranger turned to him, a manic glint in his eye, blood all over his face. "I knew I'd find you," Harry Potter said, laughing.

"You know, I really, _really_ don't like to share," and then fired the gun in his hands.


	14. Still Alive, Baby?

**Author's Note**: Inspired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

* * *

_Challenge #3 - Action/Adventure_  
_Prompt: Write a drabble inspired by the Action/Adventure film genre. It can be based on a specific movie or the genre as a whole._  
_Word Count: 200-300 words_

* * *

**Still Alive, Baby?**

It's quiet. Ginny tried to muster a smile as she looked up to her husband across the dinner table. 'Do you like the mince pie? Mum taught me.'

'It's fine,' Draco responded. Ginny tried to keep smiling as she nodded and looked down. This was ridiculous. Five years of marriage, and already they had absolutely nothing to say to each other. Ginny couldn't even remember the last time Draco'd touched her. 'I've got to get back to work,' Draco said, suddenly.

'Right,' Ginny said, and watched him leave. Draco worked at Gringotts. Something to do with Arithmancy. Ginny had never asked because she'd honestly never been interested. When she was sure Draco had left, she let out a groan, sinking back into her seat. Just then, the oven beeped and Ginny heaved a sigh. 'What?' she demanded, as she entered the kitchen.

'No need to be tetchy,' Kingsley said, leaning against the counter-top. He pointed at the brown Ministry file on the table. 'You know what to do.'

'Lovely,' Ginny responded to the sharp crack of Disapparation. She'd kept up appearances; to everyone, she was a Trainee Healer at St Mungo's. But really, she wasn't. She killed people for a living. The Ministry had enemies they couldn't afford to publicly take out, so she did it for them. It paid well.

She opened the file.

'That prick,' she whispered, in disbelief. In the folder was a very apt description of the person she was supposed to take out.

A second later, she had a wand at her throat. Her own was pointed right between Draco's eyes. 'Good reflexes,' Draco whispered low in her ear.

'Fuck,' Ginny responded, quietly.

'Maybe later,' Draco said, and fired the first spell.


	15. It's A Sport

**Author's Note**: For this challenge, I predictably picked one of my favourite films, Notting Hill. Much to my surprise, this little drabble took home Mod's Choice.

* * *

_Challenge #4 - RomCom_  
_Prompt: Write a drabble inspired by the Romantic Comedy film genre. It can be based on a specific movie or the genre as a whole._  
_Word Count: Exactly 475 words_

* * *

**It's A Sport**

Running _Weasley's Wizarding Books_ had not been what she wanted to do. She'd always wanted to go out and see the world. But she was a girl. And girls were supposed to take over their grandfather's bookshop when he passed away. He'd always wanted her to. Besides, as Grandmother always used to say, it was the one thing the Weasleys could be proud of. The bookshop was something they had accomplished together. Ginny had never told them both about her hopes and dreams. It was just better that way.

There was a commotion outside. Ginny couldn't be bothered. There wasn't a day that went by that didn't involve some explosion of noise outside of the bookshop. It was Diagon Alley. You'd think people would stop getting excited.

The bell above the door rang through the shop. 'So, you sell books here?'

Ginny didn't look up. 'Well-spotted. You have astute observation skills. Really, all these rectangular things, I thought they were just for decoration.'

The laugh that echoed through the shop was amused and low, and Ginny looked up from her filing. The owner of the voice, however, was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged, figuring he'd left. Most people did. No one really liked books these days.

'I'll have this one,' the voice said, suddenly very close, and Ginny looked up. Before her stood Draco Malfoy; Seeker for the Montrose Magpies. Since he'd joined the team, they'd broken their record, winning the British-Irish league eighty-seven times. Ginny loathed him.

'You do know that actually requires you to read?' Ginny asked.

'You don't say,' Malfoy said, leaning his arms on the counter. He'd been a year above her at Hogwarts. Star at Quidditch. Harry beat him every time, of course, which left him fuming, especially when Harry placed internationally after school. He had no idea who she was.

'You're not getting this book,' Ginny said, taking the copy of _Prince Caspian_ off the counter.

'Why not?' Malfoy asked, surprised.

'Because you're a joke,' she said. 'And you can't have my favourite book.'

'I see,' Malfoy said. He turned round and left for the door. Just as he opened it, the flurry of press noticed him. 'You've got good taste, Ginevra,' he managed, before the crowd swallowed him up.

-x-

'I'm just asking,' he said. Ginny looked up.

'One date,' Malfoy pressed.

'Shut up.'

'No. I want to -'

'- no,' Ginny interrupted.

'Come on.'

'You've asked me a hundred times. No.'

'Why not?'

'You want a list?'

'Just once. One date.'

'Will you shut up then?'

He grinned. 'Maybe.'

Ginny glared. 'Make it a yes and I'll go.'

'Yes.'

-x-

Two and a half years later, they were married.


	16. Build My Gallows High

**Author's Note**: This drabble is inspired by the film of the same name, which was released in 1947, and features slang from that time.

Yes. I know.

* * *

_Challenge #5, Part One - Film Noir_  
_Prompt: Write a drabble inspired by the Film Noir film genre. It can be based on a specific movie or the genre as a whole._  
_Word Count: Exactly 499 words._

* * *

**Build My Gallows High**

He used to sit there half-asleep, with a pint on the table in front of him. Only the music from the dance club next door would jar him awake. Girls offering dances for tickets, company for drinks and money. It was war, people did what they had to do to make end's meet.

At _Forge_'s he didn't have to think of the tickets or the girls. He just thought of his life, how miserable he'd become since Father had indebted himself to a lowlife dip who'd worked his way up the ranks. It was ridiculous.

And then she walked in - all daylight fading sunshine behind her ridiculously large straw hat. She was perhaps the only thing around here that could make him remotely cheerful, he realised. Her hips swayed in a tight, powder-blue dress, with capped sleeves and a tight bodice. She was a doll. A dame. She couldn't be more than eighteen. He dropped the coin on the floor on the way to her table and she looked at the coin, then up to him as if she would rather he breezed off and never came back.

He wasn't one to do what people wanted, so he sat down at her table, offering the coin to her. 'No, thank you,' she said, looking at him with eyes that were dark, tinged with a dangerous sparkle that was nearly not shadowed by that lovely hat. Draco wanted to lean over and touch her hair, red as the brightest rose he'd ever seen.

'I miss it,' he admitted out loud, twisting the coin between his fingers. She lit a cigarette, rubbing her thumb over the edge of it before putting it towards her mouth. She wasn't turning him away. 'Home.'

'You miss what used to be,' she said, pushing her cigarette out on the ashtray. 'You can't go home now, sugar. It's war.' She stood up, picking up her clutch. 'There's a little place down the road called _Lave_. I sometimes go there.'

He knew she wouldn't show that night. But he went anyway and sat looking like a patsy on a bar stool for three nights in a row until she did show. She waited until the very last moment to come, the moonlight flithering in through the windows on the ceiling. They have drinks (he bourbon, she sherry) and she takes him on a night time stroll alongside the prettiest back-door sights of London he has ever seen. He learns other sights too; the Thames glitters brightly in the light of day and the way her body fits between the fields of gold and flowers she takes him to see next.

It took him not very long to fall in love with her. And she loved him too, he knew. So when she steals all his money and his heart on a humid Monday afternoon, he could only say he loved her once.


	17. Comely

**Author's Note**: And here we are, the final drabble of the lot. This last one was inspired by _Inception _and _The Notebook_, both are which are drama films and - in my opinion - fit the challenge perfectly.

Thanks for travelling with me through time and reading these short drabbles!

* * *

_Challenge #5, Part Two - Author's Choice_  
_Prompt: Write a drabble inspired by your favorite film or film genre. It can be based on a specific movie or the genre as a whole.  
Word Count: Exactly 100 words._

* * *

**Comely**

The magic surrounds her, grasps at her, and slowly the dream begins to fold, to lean into itself. The magic is a formless haze at first, and then slowly it constructs and becomes solid; a house. It's lovely and she hears the love in her heart in her ears as he stands behind her, hands over her eyes and whispers gently in her ear.

The magic pulls and shifts out, and there is laughter. They have children. Two of them. 'Remember?' he asks. 'Yes,' she breathes, and he is dizzy with relief, until the recognition in her eyes fades.


End file.
